


The Flower of the Past

by BabyDracky



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Drabble, F/M, Ghost of the Past, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2013-12-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 03:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabyDracky/pseuds/BabyDracky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ghost of Lily is visiting Voldemort on Christmas Eve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flower of the Past

**Author's Note:**

  * For [candream](https://archiveofourown.org/users/candream/gifts).



> Written for my 2014 Advent Calendar @ LJ  
> Written for Candream  
> Ghost of the Past

— Hello Tom.  
The voice is faded.  
Lord Voldemort doesn’t even turn around.  
— What are you doing here, mudblood?  
— I’m visiting you.  
— Trying to scare me? I’m not afraid of ghosts. I’m not afraid of anyone.  
Silence. Is he losing his mind? Is he talking alone?  
— You lie, whispers the voice behind him now.  
He didn’t hear her approach. He couldn’t. She’s nothing more than the remembrance of what has once been a woman. He hisses, hearing her boldness. He slowly turns around, overlooking at the frail apparition. Those eyes had once been so vividly green. They’re now dead. She puts a hand where his heart would be, should he have one. He doesn’t flinch.  
— But I’m not here to show you what scares you most: my flesh, my blood, my eyes. I’m here to give you a chance.  
— I don’t need chance. I can have anything I want.  
— A lie, once again, she smiles. You’ve always been an open book to me, Tom.  
— Don’t call me that.  
She is still smiling when she gets to her tip-toes, stealing his deadly breath away. Her lips are mist, colder than his. But he remembers all the same, that day, under the lime-tree, those warm, pink and generous lips on his so many years ago. His heart skips a beat. The damn thing is still here even if deeply buried.  
— Will you kill me once again?   
She whispers against his lips before disappearing in thin air. The ghost of her kiss on his lips, the specter of her love in his heart, she is killing him softly. He had been more magnanimous.


End file.
